Begone un­belief,
My Sav­ior is near,
And for my re­lief
Will sure­ly ap­pear:
By pray­er let me wres­tle,
And He wilt per­form,
With Christ in the ves­sel,
I smile at the storm.

Though dark be my way,
Since He is my guide,
’Tis mine to ob­ey,
’Tis His to pro­vide;
Though cis­terns be brok­en,
And crea­tures all fail,
The word He has spok­en
Shall sure­ly pre­vail.

His love in time past
Forbids me to think
He’ll leave me at last
In trou­ble to sink;
Each sweet Eb­en­ez­er
I have in re­view,
Confirms His good plea­sure
To help me quite through.

Determined to save,
He watched o’er my path,
When Sa­tan’s blind slave,
I sport­ed with death;
And can He have taught me
To trust in His name,
And thus far have brought me,
To put me to shame?

Why should I com­plain
Of want or dis­tress,
Temptation or pain?
He told me no less:
The heirs of sal­va­tion,
I know from His word,
Through much tri­bu­la­tion
Must fol­low their Lord.

How bit­ter that cup,
No heart can con­ceive,
Which He drank quite up,
That sin­ners might live!
His way as much rough­er,
And dark­er than mine;
Did Je­sus thus suf­fer,
And shall I re­pine?

Since all that I meet
Shall work for my good,
The bit­ter is sweet,
The me­di­cine is food;
Though pain­ful at pre­sent,
Wilt cease be­fore long,
And then, O! how plea­sant,
The con­quer­or’s song!